


The Scientist (Reprise)

by spacemonkey



Category: U2 (Band)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Zoo TV Tour (U2)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29283723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a man fuck you?” Bono asked, and Edge choked on his noodles.Set during ZooTV Tour, a revised edition of my 2015 fic . . . of the same name.
Relationships: Bono/Ali Hewson, Bono/The Edge (U2)
Kudos: 7





	1. A Single Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, so here I am, undertaking a rather big task--editing and revising an 88,000 word fic, due to my . . . general unhappiness with the writing in the original. I didn't, however, want to just replace the entire fic as it's quite popular and I was worried people might be said, so here I am, uploading a separate fic. It's taking a bit longer than anticipated, due to, you know, who I am as a person and writer (somehow I've added 4000 words already . . . this was not meant to happen) so Ima upload the first six chapters now and go from there. It's the same but different, and I hope it's okay, love love

It was a little after two and Edge was still trying to wake up. They had a show that night, they’d enjoyed a late one the previous evening—during which he’d drank more than his fair share—and the plate in front of him wasn’t looking all that appealing. However, he knew he had to eat something, so, like a child, he pushed aside the meat and vegetables to focus on the noodles.

Bono had left the television on, the chatter between actors seeping in as clear as day from the next room, yet Edge had neither the interest nor current capacity to focus on what they were saying. At his side, Bono had his bare feet up on the table and a mug of coffee warming his hands, wearing a white bathrobe, sunglasses and seemingly nothing else. Why he was even in Edge’s room was a damn good question, one that was probably going to remain forever unanswered. Not that Bono was being too much of a distraction, given how quiet he currently was, his face blank like he was either deep in thought or hungover—or likely both.

It was a welcome yet unnerving change, one that Edge couldn’t complain about, so he stayed silent himself and shovelled in another mouthful of noodles.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a man fuck you?”

Edge choked on his noodles, tears springing to his eyes as he coughed and attempted to process the question at the same time, Bono’s hard smack against his back assisting with only one problem.

“No?” Edge wheezed out eventually, though he wanted to say a hell of a lot more. Ask a question or two of his own.

“Hmm,” Bono said, and took another sip of his coffee. “Adam said he saw some squirrels this morning, on his way back to the hotel.”

Edge stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but Bono just kept on about squirrels like it was a normal afternoon and no consideration of being fucked had recently been brought up. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, however, given who Edge was dealing with. The questions he’d been asked over the years . . .

Eventually, he gave up waiting, the need for a shower overtaking his overwhelming curiosity. Yet just as he opened his mouth to announce his intentions, Bono stood and revealed his own. Why he couldn’t shower in his own suite, Edge didn’t know. Whether there were going to be any dry towels left over was another thing he couldn’t predict. He wasn’t going to ask. About anything. Some questions were destined to remain unanswered, while others received responses that rivaled the length (and occasionally content) of The Bible.

It had been a swift learning curve, life with Bono. But, after all this time, Edge (mostly) felt he had the guy all figured out.

The conversation was still on his mind the next day as he fitfully attempted to take a nap on the plane. At his side, Bono was fidgeting, proving to be such a distraction that Edge soon gave up on sleep entirely.

“What is it, Bono?”

It was a simple question that elicited a huge sigh bordering on theatrical, causing him to mentally prepare himself.

“You remember yesterday,” Bono started, “how I asked you if you had ever wondered—”

“Yes, B. Yes, I remember. I’ve been on the edge of my seat since, waiting for a resolution.”

Bono shot Edge a steely glare. “You’ll be waiting a bit longer then.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Bono gave in, turning in his seat to properly face Edge. “When we were at the bar in Providence, I went to use the facilities and a man was watching me.”

“People are always watching you, Bono. Even in the men’s.”

“He came up behind me while I was washing my hands and whispered in my ear, Edge, that he would like very much to fuck me.”

Edge tried to look surprised, but he’d heard stories like this from Bono many times. Generally, though, the other person was a woman, and _generally,_ it didn’t go down in the men’s bathroom. “And what did you do?”

Bono shook his head, glancing around the cabin as though he was certain he would find an eavesdropper or two. Satisfied, yet still hesitant, he leaned in close and hissed, “I considered it.”

That was a bit more surprising, Edge had to admit. “You did?”

“Only for a second, but still. He was really, he was quite beautiful to look at, Edge. And I fucking giggled like a schoolgirl, and he smiled at me and then another gentleman came in and I left without another word. He was sitting at the bar and I could see him staring at us. I half expected him to follow me back to the hotel.” Bono leaned back in his seat and rubbed at his face, his hands staying put as he added, “A very small part of me wanted him to.”

Although there was currently nothing truly to take in, Edge still couldn’t stop staring. He hadn’t expected to hear any of that come from Bono, especially not in an airplane surrounded by people. They’d kept their voices low, and the engine was loud enough to drown them out, yet paranoia still liked to linger at the best (and worst) of times.

“Wow,” Edge said mildly, not knowing what else to say but certain he had to speak up somehow. It added absolutely nothing to the conversation, that one word, and he felt like a total eejit. It was all he had, though. He’d never seen Bono pay attention to other men. He didn’t think, anyway. “Do you think you’re just missing Ali?”

Bono dropped his hands, revealing a sullen expression. “It’s not about that, Edge.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just . . . can you imagine what it would be like, to have another person inside of you in such a way? Holding you while you're experiencing that connection? I cannot think of anything more intimate. And it’s not just because of Ali that I didn’t go with him. I didn’t know him at all.”

“Right.”

“If I was going to do that with someone, I would have to know him,” Bono murmured. “And he would have to know me. Like you do.”

Edge swallowed, shifting in his seat. He did know Bono—almost too well—but he couldn’t be sure if a suggestion was being made. “Bono—”

“Don’t overthink it, Edge,” Bono cut in, shaking his head. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Alright,” Edge said slowly, unsure if he should continue, ask another question or two, or let it be and allow the awkward silence to linger. In the end, Bono made the choice for him, pulling out a book and turning away.

It was a good cue for Edge to close his eyes and make another attempt at sleep, yet his mind had another idea entirely. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had just been said, or whether he’d reacted correctly. He wasn’t even sure if there _was_ a way to react correctly when your best friend was sitting next to you, explaining how he’d considered having sex with another man . . . not to mention the other thing. And Bono knew Edge well enough to know that he couldn’t help but overthink everything. How one idea or suggestion could quickly snowball.

His brain had a mind of its own. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something he could help, and soon enough, he was remembering that night at the bar, before he’d had too many. He’d barely noticed Bono coming back from the bathroom until a familiar arm had been slung over his shoulder.

Had the other man been watching them? Had he been jealous? Had Bono been _trying_ to make him jealous?

Edge forced his eyes open, certain it was a better choice than following that train of thought, and glanced to his left. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said Bono had been reading that same page for the past ten minutes.

“You alright?” Edge asked after another minute or so of no page-turning.

“Fine,” Bono replied, flipping the page with enough force that Edge was surprised he didn’t rip it from the book.

“. . . okay then.”

It was a short flight to Boston, and soon enough they were on the ground and checking in at the hotel. Upon entering his room, Edge immediately decided the best course of action was to take a long hot shower, then climb into bed for a few hours before the evening could commence. No one had made any plans as of yet, but there was always a night to be had on days off . . . or otherwise.

He’d only managed to pull a few necessities out of his suitcase, however, when a knock sounded through the room. It came as no surprise when he opened the door to Bono’s disarming grin.

“I was just going to shower,” Edge explained as Bono brushed past him into the sitting room, heading toward the couch.

“I know.” The door clicked shut, but Edge didn’t shift away from it. He watched Bono settle, took in that expectant look, and wondered. “You always have a shower when you’re tense, Edge.”

It wasn’t worth the effort, no matter how much Edge wanted to argue. They both knew it was true. Instead, he rolled his eyes, then joined Bono on the couch.

“You know me so well, do you?”

“For the most part. Sometimes, you can be a mystery,” Bono said with a smile, one that Edge couldn’t help but return. “You can have your shower in a minute. I just need to make something clear.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Bono took a deep breath. “On the plane, I wasn’t suggesting that we have sex together.” Edge barked out a laugh, then forced himself silent—although not quickly enough, judging by the dirty look he received. “I’m glad you find this amusing, Edge.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I laughed, I swear,” he insisted, and it was God’s honest truth. For a moment, Bono just stared at him, before letting go and slumping back into the couch. It was hopefully a good sign. “It was just a weird thing to hear you say, is all.”

“I suppose it would be,” Bono grumbled. “Look, I never should have said anything about anything. I just needed to tell someone, and I hoped you might not. . .” he trailed off with a loud exhale, throwing his hands up in the air as though it was the best explanation he had.

“I know,” Edge said gently. “I’m glad you told me. I am. And I’m not judging at all. I was a bit surprised, to say the least. Which is pretty amazing if you think about it. I thought you might have stopped surprising me years ago, but here we are.” Bono’s laughter, as was often—though not always—the case, was a welcome sound, allowing Edge to relax. “You can tell me anything, B.”

“I know that.” Bono smiled, patting him on the arm. “I do need to reiterate, however, that I wasn’t suggesting anything. I was just stuck on an idea that a very small part of me had had, and was thinking out loud. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Edge replied after a beat, causing Bono’s smile to grow. “Though I am a single man now.” He meant it as a bad joke, but Bono’s face dropped. Immediately, he reached over to squeeze Edge’s hand.

“You’ll find someone, Edge.”

“Yeah,” Edge said, clearing his throat as he pulled his hand away. In response, Bono cocked his head, pursing his lips as he considered Edge, before nodding.

“Anyway, you better go and have your shower.” After rubbing Edge’s knee, Bono got up and headed towards the door, pausing only at the sound of his name being uttered, eyebrows raised in question.

“This guy in the men’s room,” Edge started, then fell silent, feeling like a dickhead. Bono’s hand was on the door handle. They’d been so close to not having this conversation today.

“Yes?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“What about him, Edge?” Bono insisted, and that was it. That tone of voice, coupled with that searching expression? Edge had to ask now. A second, third and fourth round of _never mind_ would be completely ignored.

“Well, I was just wondering, you know. Of all the men you’ve encountered in your life, what made him so special?”

Briefly, Bono thought it over, his hand still resting on the door handle, before shrugging with a faint smile. “I don’t know. He just was, I suppose.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, and Edge couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed. “What did he look like? Was he tall?”

“No, about your height. Thin. Beautiful eyes.” Bono shrugged again, then pulled open the door. “I pictured him and I on the beach in Killiney,” he added, offering one final smile before leaving. 

The door shut quietly behind him, as Edge wondered what, exactly, Bono had meant by that last statement. It was the type of thought that snowballed, and it didn’t take long for Edge to forget about his shower completely.


	2. Everywhere You Look (There's A Gay Bar)

Somehow, they had ended up in San Francisco. Edge wasn’t entirely sure who had made the final decision on going there. However, if asked to put money on who to blame, he probably would go for Adam, even if it did sound like the type of scheme Bono was good at cooking up out of the blue. But Edge just had a sneaking suspicion this time around.

All he knew for sure was that they had played in San Diego the night before and landed in Sacramento just before lunch, with the idea of San Francisco being raised after landing. Ultimately, they’d gone from discussing it to grabbing a few toiletries and a change of underwear and hitting the road in all of thirty minutes.

It had barely gone one when Adam slid behind the wheel of a rental, looking far too pleased with himself, while Bono hopped in the passenger seat, prepared to badly navigate the entire trip. From the back seat, Edge had briefly wondered if maybe he should have stayed behind and spent the day sleeping by the pool like Larry.

They’d gotten there in one piece, though, and found a little restaurant just on the outskirts of town to have an early dinner. Having left security behind, Edge was slightly worried they were going to be bothered, but besides a few stares and hushed whispers, they managed to eat in peace.

“Isn’t the house from _Full House_ from around here?” Bono asked after finishing his third double whiskey for the afternoon. Edge didn’t respond, although the question was directed his way. He was too busy wondering whether anyone had even _told_ security they were leaving. “Do you think they’re filming?”

Adam laughed. “Were you looking to get Bob Saget’s autograph?”

“Why settle for Bob when John Stamos is around?” Bono countered, grinning when Adam raised his glass in agreement. “Shall we go?”

“I think they film in Los Angeles,” Edge spoke up.

With a sigh, Adam set his glass back down on the table. “Are you sure?”

“I think so. On a soundstage? The house is here, though.”

“Well, we have to go then.” Bono was up out of his seat without another word.

Edge watched him amble toward the counter, then turned to Adam. “Do you think he’s paying the bill or getting another drink?”

“I hope it’s the bill,” Adam replied. “He’s the one that had the lobster.”

Bono was stuffing his wallet back into his pocket when he returned, so Adam and Edge finished their drinks and stood up. “Broderick Street, Edge.”

“Sorry?”

“I asked the waitress if she knew where the house was. Broderick Street. You’re going to have to drive, mate, you’ve had the least of all of us.”

Chuckling, Adam pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them at Edge, who caught them with one hand. “This is what happens when you nurse your drink the entire meal, Edge. Have you not learned that by now?"

It wasn’t what Edge had pictured when he’d agreed to go on the trip. Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t even sure he _had_ agreed. But he supposed it was better than driving around looking for the red-light district, a hilariously stupid thing the four of them had done in Detroit a few years prior. Larry had been the brains behind that one, and Bono had never let him live it down.

Thankfully, when Edge climbed into the car, he discovered Adam in the passenger seat with the map and a bottle of booze in his lap. Still, they somehow got completely lost and by the time they found Broderick Street, the sun was well on its way to setting.

“Did you happen to catch the number of the house, Bono?” Adam asked as they turned into the street.

“Of course I did,” Bono replied, sounding shocked that Adam would even ask such a thing.

“Well?”

There was a pause. “It was seventeen hundred something. Very early seventeen hundreds. Perhaps seventeen oh three?”

“Fine navigating as always, B,” Edge said, but continued on until they reached the very early seventeen hundreds. He stopped in front of seventeen oh three, and Bono rolled down the back window.

“That’s it, that’s the house!”

Edge peered out the window. “The house next door looks almost exactly the same, are you sure it’s that one?”

“Well, it has to be one of them,” Bono retorted, then paused, squinting. “Or that one over there.”

Adam started laughing, so hard that Edge couldn’t help but join in. In the back seat, Bono tried to ignore them, almost succeeding in stopping a grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you watch _Full House_ quite a bit, Bono?” Adam asked when they’d calmed down.

“Oh, I’ve seen a few episodes. I didn’t overly enjoy it,” came the response, causing Adam to lose it once more. “But that house is a star in the making.”

Bono settled back into the cheap plastic upholstery, looking quite smug as he watched Adam wipe tears from his eyes. Eejits, the both of them. With a grin, Edge shook his head, waiting patiently for the okay to drive away. He was glad he came. Overjoyed, even. How long had it been since he’d felt that way off-stage?

Truthfully, he had no idea. Which was, frankly, a little sad.

They discussed driving back to Sacramento that evening, since there were hotel rooms waiting there for them and all, yet Edge found himself arguing that they might as well stay the night since it was already dark. He didn’t know the road well enough to drive at night-time, and Adam had enjoyed a bit too much to drink to even consider it.

“Do you think the Four Seasons has a vacancy?” Bono asked from the backseat. Shrugging, Adam reached for the car phone.

They ended up with two separate rooms—both one-bedroom suites—and in the hallway, Bono looked at Edge and offered to sleep on the sofa bed.

“Wait, why does Adam get the room to himself?” Edge asked.

“Adam snores.”

“So do you!”

“Okay, then Adam enjoys bringing girls back to his room,” Bono countered. It was a good point, one that was hard to argue. “So I’ll sleep on the sofa bed if you’d like.”

“No, I’ll have it.”

“Or perhaps you could share the king?” Adam suggested. “Or is that only an option for when we are broke?” He smiled at them, opened the door to his room without another word then disappeared inside.

Edge could feel Bono’s eyes on him. It had been a month since their discussion in Boston and they’d not talked about it since. Edge had barely even thought about it, if he had to be honest with himself. But standing there with the option of sharing a bed with Bono for the first time in years, he couldn’t help but be reminded. After clearing his throat and rearranging his bag on his shoulder, he glanced over and was greeted with a beaming smile.

“Or perhaps we could share the king?” Bono said in a bad plummy accent, causing Edge to grin.

“Perhaps we could.”

The mini bar wasn’t stocked enough to Bono’s liking, and Adam’s was more of the same, so they ended up heading out. The streets were busy for a Thursday night, resulting in them being stopped on a few occasions for photographs and the like before finding a bar that suited. There, they drank until the group from the next table over asked if Bono—and by association, Edge and Adam—would be so kind as to accompany them to another bar. And how could they resist?

Edge was pleasantly buzzed—completely drunk, really—by the time they reached their next location. Therefore, it took him a lot longer than it should have to realize that they were in the middle of a gay bar. Which wasn’t a huge deal, usually. They’d discovered early on that people tended to leave them alone more in those types of establishments, so as a group they’d been to many over the years.

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh. Of all the fucking nights . . . it wasn’t important. The table was filling with drinks, and soon enough Adam disappeared completely, leaving Edge to blindly follow Bono around and shout over the music while Bono laughed and stumbled and grasped his wrist.

From there, it all became a bit . . . hazy, and then abruptly Edge found himself waking up in bed, his mouth tasting like the bottom of a shoe, his stomach rolling and his eyes almost glued shut. It took all his effort to stagger into the bathroom and vomit heartily into the toilet, true regret making itself known.

He stayed on the tiles for a minute or two once finished, letting the porcelain cool his cheek before dragging his arse up to piss for what felt like an hour. After flushing, Edge stepped over to the sink. There, he brushed and rinsed and brushed once more, then stuck his mouth under the faucet to guzzle at least a litre of water.

His face was still under the stream when Bono lurched into the room and fell to his knees in front of the toilet. Edge stood up straight, turned off the water and wiped his mouth as he watched Bono heave. A sense of pity emerged, faint as it was. It had been Bono’s idea to go to the second bard and drink more, after all. That much Edge could remember. That, and warm fingers around his wrist.

Patiently, he waited until Bono was finished, then flushed the toilet and pulled his sorry best friend to his feet.

“Rinse your mouth out.”

Bono did as he was told, as compliant as he’d ever been, then dumbly accepted the toothbrush being offered to him. There was little more Edge currently wanted than to climb back into bed and sleep for another ten hours—anything to get rid of the pounding in the back of his skull and the sickly feeling still lingering—but Bono needed attending to first. Although at this rate, they weren’t going to end up back in bed for another ten hours.

As he waited for Bono to finish brushing his fucking teeth, Edge stared himself down in the mirror, not entirely enjoying what he was seeing. He was about to glance away when he noticed a red mark on his cheek and, after inspecting it closer, realized it was lipstick. The memory of it being kissed there had been wiped completely clean.

“How much did we drink?” he wondered.

Bono’s response was to spit a lifetime's worth of toothpaste in the sink, then lean in to rinse his mouth out. He looked like hell, his skin pale, eyes bloodshot, yet still managed a grin when he glanced over and croaked, “We drank the fucking bar, Edge.”

It was a vaguely concerning, albeit funny statement that caused Edge to huff out a laugh, despite already picturing Bono attempting to sing that evening with such a blown-out voice. However, that was still half a day away—he assumed, or, rather, hoped—plenty of time for a miraculous recovery. At this point in their career, they were fairly practiced in the art of pulling vitality and some flair out of their arses.

After holding Bono steady while he emptied his bladder, they fell back in bed together, where Edge glared at the digital clock. He’d wished for something around five am but instead was hit with the cold hard truth of it having just gone seven. With a sigh, he set the alarm for eleven, hoping that this Four Seasons had a midday checkout like all the other ones they had stayed at over the years.

He was expecting Bono to already be asleep, yet when Edge rolled over, he was greeted with a lazy smile.

“You danced with a vision in a red dress last night, Edge,” Bono murmured. “Dark hair, red lips, the whole nine yards.”

“Did I?”

“Mmm. His name was Steven.” Edge blinked, causing Bono to let out a laugh, one that appeared to rumble deep from within his chest. “He was lovely. You stepped on his foot.”

“Did I?” Edge repeated, frankly too fucking hungover to deal with what he was hearing, although he did manage to join in when Bono started laughing once more.

After a few hours’ sleep, Edge emerged feeling somewhat human, while Adam was surprisingly lively, offering to drive. Bono, however, was a lump in the backseat of the car, clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee like it was a lifesaver, his sunglasses on the entire ride home.

It was a quiet trip back, with the back window down most of the way, and Edge found himself lost in his thoughts. He tried to remember the night before, but it was all a blur. He couldn’t picture himself dancing with anyone, let alone another man, though he didn’t doubt Bono’s word in the slightest. A few years ago, Edge might have reacted differently to the thought. Now, though, he found himself smiling every time he thought of it.

They made it through the concert a lot easier than he had expected, and Adam and Larry were planning the evening’s festivities as soon as they left the stage. Wisely, Edge opted out, and wasn’t too surprised when Bono made the same choice. His voice had held up, but he still looked like he was recovering.

When Edge got to his room, Bono followed him inside instead of continuing down the hallway and headed straight for the telephone. Edge shook his head. One day, Bono was going to ask if he could come in, and Edge was going to keel over in shock.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he called. Bono waved him off, the phone cradled against his shoulder.

Edge stayed in the shower longer than necessary, letting the hot water beat down on his aching muscles. After finally stepping out, he dried himself quickly, then wrapped the towel around his waist and headed towards his bedroom. There, he found Bono sitting cross-legged on his bed with a bowl of fries in his lap.

“I ordered room service,” he said after swallowing his mouthful, offering up the bowl and a sheepish smile.

“You couldn’t eat that at the table?”

Such a question often prompted an entire thesis, yet Bono’s only response was a simple shake of his head. Sighing, Edge snagged a handful of fries and ate them, one by one, before pulling the towel from around his waist. “They’re good.” He hung it on the door handle, then reached into his suitcase for a pair of briefs, sensing Bono’s eyes following his every move. When he turned around, Bono kept his gaze steady. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bono said, stuffing few more fries into his mouth.

After watching him chew for a moment, Edge shook his head and stepped into his briefs, snagging a white bathrobe from the wardrobe to shuck on. “Did you only get one bowl?” he asked as he sat down and easily stole the bowl. 

“I can call for some more?”

“I’m not really hungry,” he decided after a brief contemplation about food moderation, fishing out the last of the fries then setting the bowl on the bedside table. Bono was still watching him, chewing on a nail, and Edge swallowed before raising the million-dollar question. “What is it, Bono?”

Bono shrugged, his thumb remaining in his mouth as he glanced down at the ground. It was not the night for twenty questions, not when Edge had been thinking about bed since mid-afternoon. He picked up the bowl instead of prodding and headed into the next room, setting it on the table before sitting down on the couch, remote on hand. It took a few minutes, but Bono did join him, a move which Edge had hotly anticipated.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bono said after muting the television.

Edge rubbed at his eye, already certain he was too tired for whatever was coming. “What have you been thinking, Bono?”

“You remember when we had that discussion about the man in the men’s toilet?” Bono asked, and Edge let his hand drop back into his lap as he turned to stare. He _definitely_ was too tired. “The one that wanted to fuck me?”

“I remember.”

“Well,” Bono started, then shifted in his seat, looking more uncomfortable than Edge had seen him in quite a while. Maybe ever. “I’ve been thinking about that, you know. Quite a lot.”

“. . . thinking about it how exactly?”

The chuckle Bono let out was casual enough, yet he began wringing his hands together—an action which kept Edge staring, alarm creeping in fast. “You said I could tell you anything. This is me telling—”

“Wait,” Edge cut in, alarm shifting to a different emotion entirely. “is that why you took us to the gay bar last night?” It was, frankly, a bastard question. He’d figured that as much when Bono started shaking his head barely halfway through it. And people thought Edge was sensitive. “I mean—”

“That was just fun, Edge, and we had fun, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did. B, look—”

“But I’ve been picturing it ever since Boston. I know I said it was just a small thought, but those are the sorts of thoughts that tend to grow until they won’t be ignored. I’ve tried to, believe me.”

“Okay, okay,” Edge said, smiling in a way he hoped was reassuring as he put his hand on Bono’s shoulder. He was talking far too quickly for Edge’s liking. “Have you spoke to Ali about this?”

Bono nodded. “She’s not singing from rooftops, but she’s coming around. I never imagined being unfaithful to her. I never thought I’d want to be.” After all this time, Edge felt as though he knew Ali incredibly well, enough to understand how much she wanted Bono to be content in life. However, Edge was having a hard time picturing her signing off on this, yet he trusted Bono’s word. “I’ve told her all about it, Edge, how I fantasize—”

“Fantasize?” Edge cut in sharply. “When? About him?”

Bono let out a bitter laugh, his gaze turning to the muted television set. “I just want to know what it feels like. Just once.”

“Okay,” Edge said after a beat, his mind whirring. In a way, it was almost like a science project, what with the urge to experiment and try new things. That, he could understand, having done so many times in life. But he’d never thought of doing such a thing with another man. “Jesus, Bono, I had planned to come back to my room and sleep for twelve hours. I wasn’t really ready for _this_ conversation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Edge ran a hand through his damp hair, glancing the television himself as he considered a few things before looking back at Bono. He was clad his concert clothes still, the ones he wore while holding tens of thousands of people in the palm of his hand, yet Edge had never seen him look so unsure of himself in such an outfit. “So, you’re going to do this?”

“I hope so.”

“. . . with who? I mean, you’re famous, B. Word would get around.”

“I told you, Edge,” Bono said, smiling weakly. “It would have to be someone who I know. And who knows me.”

Suddenly, Edge remembered him saying that on the plane. And what else had come with that. Dumbstruck, he stared, his heart hammering in his chest, until Bono glanced away, chewing on his thumbnail as he studied the ground. “Bono, I can’t.” Bono nodded. “It’s too much.”

He nodded once more, and silence fell upon the room. Edge didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say? He had no idea. His brain, which had been so exhausted a few minutes prior, was now buzzing, and yet he still couldn’t think of a fucking thing to add, of words that would remove that expression from Bono’s face.

Five minutes. It had taken all of five minutes to change their relationship completely, and Edge couldn’t feel mad about it, nor uncomfortable. No, all he was feeling was desperately sorry for Bono. Five fucking minutes.

Abruptly, Bono leaned forward, his hands coming up to cover his mouth as he breathed deeply, eyes squeezing shut. Was he going to cry? Few things terrified or upset Edge more, and he couldn’t handle seeing that tonight (or ever). Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around Bono’s shoulders and pulled him close—a move which wasn’t quite the same as a few comforting words, yet still seemed to make its mark.

“Can we pretend like I never said anything?” Bono asked after a few seconds of silence, his voice muffled by the white bathrobe.

“Sure.”

“Liar,” he said with a smile mostly hidden against Edge’s chest. Again, the words refused to come.

Instead, Edge just hugged him closer, hoping it would do the trick.


	3. A Song of Despair

Edge really didn’t want it to seem like he was avoiding Bono the next morning, as he was certain that it might make the situation worse. Still, he stayed in bed for a few minutes longer than necessary, showered till the water ran cold then hid in his room until it was time to leave. Like a fucking coward. A coward who had barely slept, whose stomach refused to settle, having been in knots from the moment he opened his eyes that morning.

The ride to the airport did not improve matters. Bono remained silent, arms crossed over his chest, face turned to the window, doing his part—as he did so well sometimes—to contribute to the tension lingering in the air. Although it wasn’t like Edge could complain too much, given that he stayed quiet himself, spending most of the drive watching the traffic up ahead. Out the corner of his eye, though, he did catch Larry and Adam sharing at least three questioning looks. Which was just great.

It was a thankfully short flight to Oakland, and Adam chose to spend half of it shifting in his seat before finally giving in and asking, “Did something happen?”

“No.”

His eyebrows shot up as he glanced across the aisle to where Bono and Larry were seated. “Are you sure?”

“No.” It slipped out, regret flooding through Edge when Adam whipped back to face him.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, it’s nothing,” Edge muttered, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Just a small row, it’ll be fine.”

Adam nodded, looking entirely unconvinced. And really, Edge could not blame him in the slightest. “Alright then.”

The ride from the airport was as quiet as the previous one had been, leaving Edge tempted to open the door and roll right out into traffic. Anything to escape the silence. And he was usually fine with not talking for extended periods, but there was companionable silence, and then there was the _this is a disaster_ kind.

It had to end, it truly did. But he was still a fucking coward, and Bono didn’t seem to be in any mood to strike up a conversation. After checking in, they headed upstairs, where he was slamming his door behind him before Edge was barely off the elevator. Seeing this, Larry let out a low whistle.

“We’re going to have a fantastic show tonight.”

“It’ll be fine,” Edge insisted, receiving a look that he chose to ignore.

In his room, he unpacked all his essentials and roamed aimlessly around the suite for a while before giving in and climbing into bed. It was where he wanted to stay for days, though that, unfortunately, was not a possibility when in the middle of a sold-out rock tour. On a whim, he took his watch off and set it on the pillow beside his head, watching the hand tick closer and closer to the time when he would have to drag his arse out of bed and face the music. 

Bono had let Edge hug him before leaving the night before. His gaze, however, had been averted, his goodbye short, setting off alarm bells that Edge attempted to ignore. In bed, he’d tried to convince himself they would be alright before ultimately giving in to the truth around five am.

It wasn’t a situation he knew how to fix, nor whether it even _could_ be, and he had no clue on what step to take next. Had he worked a normal nine to five job, he might have been tempted to call in sick, stay right where he was, and avoid all responsibilities in life, Bono included. There were thousands of people expecting his input that evening, though, so when the time came, he reluctantly threw the covers back and got up.

Still, he was in a fog through most of the concert, working on autopilot, and Bono was on him as soon as they hit the dressing room.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What was _what_?”

“You!”

“What about me?”

Bono’s jaw clenched, a sight which Edge knew usually meant a tirade was coming, so be prepared. Instead, Bono just shook his head, turned away and ripped off his silver jacket, flinging it to the floor. “You were off. A fucking child could have done a better job.”

Edge rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Bono.”

It likely would have been a better choice setting off a grenade than saying those three words. In a flash, Bono had spun around to face him, and briefly, Edge wondered whether he was about to be thumped. Part of him hoped he was. No fist came, though. Bono simply stared at him, his expression shifting from incensed to something entirely unexpected. Edge sighed, taking a half-step closer. “Look—”

“Well done,” Bono snapped, the look in his eyes saying—practically begging— _don’t respond and do not fucking follow me_. He brushed past Larry on his way out of the room, a sight which caused Edge to flush. He hadn’t realized someone else was in the room.

“He was right,” Larry said after a moment spent staring at each other. “You were off.”

Edge didn’t respond. What was there to say when he was the only person in the room who actually knew what had just happened? Although, he didn’t, really. Just one side of the story.

Not knowing what else to do, he went and picked up Bono’s jacket from the ground, placing it gently on the table. When he turned around, Larry was gone.

If there were plans to go out, Edge didn’t want to know about them. His room was cool when he got back, so he drank tea in front of the window, gazing over the city. It looked like a dream, lit up like it was, and eventually, he was compelled to close the curtains.

After dumping the rest of his mug down the sink, he stripped down to his underwear, wrapped himself in a bathrobe and settled in front of the television. There was nothing, though, that could hold his attention, and while his body felt heavy, he didn’t think he could sleep. Not yet. Not after such a night (or couple of nights).

A quick rummage through his things revealed only one viable distraction, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda. Edge couldn’t quite remember when Bono had lent it to him, but he was sure it had been a while ago. A few pages had been dog-eared, so, after climbing into bed, he flipped to the first one.

The phone rang when he was barely two sentences in. Briefly, Edge considered ignoring it, before giving in on the fourth ring, reaching over to scoop up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Are you busy?”

He dropped the book face down onto the bed. Bono didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, yet Edge had not expected to hear from him so soon. It was a relief, though. Hearing his voice, as well as realizing that they were in similar places, both physically and emotionally.

“I was, uh, no. I was reading.”

“What are you reading?”

“That book you gave me.”

“The Pablo Neruda one? Are you enjoying it?”

“I just started it,” Edge admitted with a somewhat awkward laugh. “Actually, I flipped through to a random poem.”

“Which one?”

“Drunk with Pines.”

“What did you think?”

“I’ve only read a few lines. Then you rang,” Edge replied, smiling at the sound of Bono’s chuckle.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.”

A beat of silence followed, thankfully cut off by Bono sighing. “Would it be alright if I came over?” he asked. “Or—”

“Yeah, B. That would be fine.”

The anxiety hit as soon as they hung up, despite only exhaustion lingering in his tone. Still, Edge didn’t quite know what was going to happen. He’d witnessed Bono revert back to being angry or upset right when things were starting to look up, and this was brand new territory they were dealing with. Who knew what to expect? Not Edge, but a knock sounded before he could begin to overthink the situation, forcing him to throw back the covers and pad toward the door.

Bono was wearing a matching bathrobe, something that apparently warranted pointing out as he stepped inside, smelling of smoke. “It’s incredibly cool tonight, isn’t it? I never used to think California could get cold. Especially so close to summer. It’s so strange.”

“It is cold,” Edge agreed, shutting the door. It was hard to know for sure, but he was pretty certain Bono’s face hadn’t looked so wrecked earlier. That, or Edge had proven himself to be completely self-absorbed. He gestured to the couch, but it seemed Bono had other ideas, instead heading into the bedroom.

“You can relax, Edge,” he called when Edge didn’t follow.

In the distance, he heard the wardrobe being opened, a sound which prompted him to finally move away from the door and go investigate. Upon entering the bedroom, he discovered Bono with a blanket in his hands, which he draped over his shoulders before sitting on the end of the bed.

It was a cool night, certainly, yet Edge didn’t think an added layer of thin wool was needed. Not when certain people already ran hot. But he wasn’t going to question the move, nor speak at all, apparently. Climbing back into bed was a tempting option, one that was quickly decided against. It would involve moving, after all, something which was also not in his immediate future, it seemed. He did, however, find it in himself to shut the wardrobe door, then lean against it with his arms around his chest. Watching, and waiting.

Bono remained just as quiet, his head bowed as he took in the cream carpeting. The silence stretched on, becoming uncomfortable fast, and it was only when Edge started wondering if he should have let the phone ring out that Bono cleared his throat.

“I thought about avoiding you,” he admitted. “Then I remembered that we were in the middle of a tour and realized how difficult that might be. Not to mention unprofessional.” A faint smile emerged as he glanced up at Edge. “But I was wallowing in pity for myself, and I found tonight’s show incredibly difficult.”

“We’ve had worse.”

“We’ve had better,” Bono countered. “You know, I was so fucking angry at you this evening. How irrational is that? But it took me a while to realize that maybe I wasn’t the only one who was distracted. And that I should stop being a fucking child.” He rubbed at his eye, letting out a bitter laugh. “I’ve made a mess of it all, haven’t I, The Edge?”

Hearing this, Edge closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wardrobe. “You’re not a child,” he muttered.

“You recognize that I’ve made a mess of it, then.”

The resignation in Bono’s voice forced Edge’s eyes back open. He found Bono pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, his gaze once more searching the floor, though he briefly glanced up when Edge pushed away from the wardrobe and joined him on the bed.

“Larry told me I was out, after you left.”

Bono sniffed. “I still shouldn’t—”

“I probably was. I wasn’t really paying attention. You want to talk about being unprofessional?” Edge pointed at himself, eliciting a small smile from Bono, although it dropped from his face soon enough. Edge kept watching. All day, he’d wondered whether the whole thing was fixable, if they would be able to get past it, and it had all seemed too damn hard. But looking at Bono cocooned in a blanket, Edge was reminded of when they were first starting out, and how many hardships they’d faced and beaten since. “Shit happens.”

It obviously wasn’t what Bono expected to hear, causing him to blink in surprise, then bark out a laugh. “Shit happens? That’s how you’ve decided to deal with this?”

“We’ve made it through worse.”

“I suppose,” he murmured after a contemplative pause, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced. There was more coming, Edge was sure of it. There was always more with Bono, and soon enough, he glanced over. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Not in that way,” he added as though it was necessary.

“I know that too.”

“I just wanted to make sure. Just to clear up any . . . I mean, I know what I said, how it might have been construed, but I just—”

“Bono.”

Self-consciously, Bono scratched at the back of his head, the blanket falling around his waist. “I’m sorry, Edge.”

Edge wanted to tell him it was fine. That there was nothing to be sorry for. He knew, however, such words would fall on deaf ears. Thankfully, though, Bono already looked brighter, but Edge was certain it would be a few days at least before things could start feeling completely normal. He hoped as much, anyway.

“You know, I’m pretty sure the drive is even shorter from here to San Francisco,” he said thoughtfully, causing Bono’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“Didn’t you get enough excitement there already?”

“I just think it would be nice to drive around and see the sights without someone shouting from the backseat about a fucking house, is all.”

Laughing, Bono shoved Edge, just as he’d hoped. As Bono often did during such a moment. And just like that, Edge was convinced.

They were going to be alright.


	4. Home Is Where the Heart Is

Determined to rid himself of the jet lag still hanging about, Edge had made plans the previous night whilst climbing into bed to have a damn good sleep in. So he was dismayed to wake feeling entirely unrested, the sun not looking nearly bright enough behind the curtains for his liking, the clock confirming his suspicions. And there probably was no point in making any attempt at burying his head back into the pillow, not now that he was awake. Not when he could hear the faint sound of familiar music in the next room, accompanied by a brief selection of Adam’s favourite swear words.

Grudgingly, Edge crawled out of bed, the thought of coffee (as well as shutting up his bladder) driving his every step. After visiting the toilet and then the kitchen, he went, mug of coffee in hand, and settled down on the couch next to Adam, who looked very confused to have company.

“Why are you up, it’s . . .” he trailed off with a frown, pausing the game then checking his watch. “Oh. It’s seven-thirty. Well, clearly, I’ve been playing for far too long.” With that said, he continued playing, unpausing only to be immediately killed. “I hate this ridiculous game.”

“Why are you playing it then?”

“To save the princess,” Adam explained as he started the level again, lasting a good minute before Mario jumped into a plant and died. “Oh, Jesus Christ. I’m done.”

“Have you been playing all night?”

“Just a few hours. I’m still on California time, it seems.” The Nintendo and television were turned off, releasing him of his current hell. “Do you want some eggs?” he asked without bothering to wait for an answer, whistling to himself as he wandered toward the kitchen.

Edge smiled into his coffee, thoroughly entertained by his very overtired friend. For months, Larry had been pestering him about finding his own place, especially now that the two of them were stuck in the guest cottage while Adam’s main house was renovated. It was cramped and there wasn’t much privacy, which apparently was not a good thing for a couple of so-called eligible bachelors.

But Edge didn’t mind at all. It reminded him of when they were just starting out and all living together, although with better hygiene, and he liked not having to come home to a silent house. Besides, Adam seemed to enjoy the company, and was quick to explain to Edge how pointless it was to waste time and energy finding a house when they were on tour. Which was a fantastic point.

He didn’t have much time, and he _definitely_ did not have the energy for any of that bullshit. They had been home two days, yet the exhaustion refused to leave. Really, it felt, in a way, like they were still on the road, although that might have been because Edge hadn’t stopped thinking about certain things that had happened over the past couple of weeks.

The last shows had been a bit of a blur, with Bono thankfully appearing almost back to normal, if a little quiet and distracted. They’d barely had any time alone together since that night in Oakland, however, and Edge had missed it. He’d missed _Bono_ , which was strange to consider, given how closely their lives revolved around each other while on tour (and in general), but there was a difference between sitting next to him at dinner with ten other people and eating room service in Edge’s room, chattering away about this and that. And there was a difference between performing in front of twenty thousand people and watching mindless television together, alone, Bono sometimes drifting off with his feet in Edge’s lap, the comfortable silence overtaken by the sounds of sleep.

He’d hoped for some time to talk on the plane trip home, but it just hadn’t happened, and they’d not seen each other since—something which Edge was eager to change. It wasn’t like he thought Bono needed checking up on, nor that his sudden quietness was reason for concern (or potentially Edge’s fault, in a way), or even that Edge was himself distracted. No, he just missed his best friend.

“Edge, do you want bacon?” Adam called from the kitchen.

“Of course I do.”

“Make me a cup of tea then, would you?”

Grinning, Edge pulled himself from the couch and, like a good roommate, went and did what he was told.

After breakfast, Adam headed to bed, requesting a rise-and-shine from Edge in a few hours if he was home. Once the dishes were done, he went and had a shower, then bumbled around for a while, trying to find a way to pass the time before settling on listening to an old cassette tape from one of their recording sessions. Sometimes, inspiration struck when he least expected, resulting in an uninspiring riff becoming something of interest, worthy for a look in. But not this time, as it turned out. Which was fine.

There were more important things to consider right now than trying to write another song, so soon after releasing the last batch.

At least, that’s what Edge liked to tell himself to keep the frustrations at bay.

He waited until mid-morning to pick up the telephone and dial a familiar number, hoping it wasn’t a bad time. That the whirlwind of having two little ones had died down a little following breakfast, though he knew from experience that was often a pipedream.

“Hello?” Ali answered a few rings in, sounding perfectly serene and lovely.

“Hello, love.”

“Edge!” Even without seeing her, he knew she was smiling, sending through the kind of warmth matched only by her husband. At least in Edge’s view, anyway. “How funny, Jordan was just asking about you.”

“Was she now?”

“Mmhmm, she must have heard Bono talking about you. Sounds like she misses you. Are you coming over while you’re home?”

“Well, I don’t think I have much of a choice if Jordan is requesting my presence.”

“No, you do not, I’m afraid. What about tonight for dinner? Or are you seeing the girls?”

“No, I saw them yesterday. Tonight would be great.”

“Oh, you’re still at Adam’s, aren’t you?” Ali asked. “Do you want to see if he’ll come?”

“I’m fairly sure he’s seeing a girl tonight.”

“Of course he is. Edge, you know you’re always welcome here. We’ve got plenty of room for you.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d made such a suggestion, and he knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, Edge had to respond with the same thing he always did. “I know, Ali. Thank you, but I couldn’t do that. I’d feel like I was in the way, especially when you have the girls to think about.”

“Alright,” she replied with a sigh that sounded an awful lot like _I’ll wear you down one day, mark my words_. “As long as you’re happy. Did you want Bono? He’s just stepped into the shower.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll see him tonight. What time—”

“Any time before six is fine. You could even come now, if you want,” she offered, laughing. “It’s a miracle, we’ve actually no other plans today, for once.”

“That is rather miraculous,” Edge agreed. “I’ll be around in a couple of hours then, love.”

“Wonderful, I’ll let B know.”

They said their goodbyes, his arm feeling heavy as he hung up the phone. He was well aware that Bono had said she knew about the guy in the bar and his increasing curiosity, but had he told her at all about the past couple of weeks? About what he’d asked Edge? She’d sounded so happy and pleased to hear from him, as though nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t. It was hard to know for sure with Ali sometimes.

He sat there for a while, staring at the wall before giving in and going to have a quick lie down himself.

A couple of hours later, he was being greeted at the door by Bono holding a very sleepy Eve in his arms. Immediately, she was passed over for a cuddle, a tired smile appearing on his face as he watched her arms wrap around Edge’s neck.

“Ali decided we needed zucchini for dinner, so she’s gone to do some shopping,” Bono explained as they headed inside. “She said she wouldn’t be long, but I think you and I both know she’s likely to come back with an entire new dinner plan.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Edge followed Bono into the living room, tickling Eve’s stomach until she started to giggle. “She’s gotten so big.”

“I know, it’s positively overwhelming, The Edge. Jordan’s doing the same thing, and a part of me wants them to stay tiny for a bit longer.” They sat down on the couch, Edge fawning over Eve for a few seconds longer before passing her back.

“Is she with Ali?”

Bono nodded, letting out the exasperated laugh only parents knew how to do. “She wanted to go shopping. She wanted to stay with me. She wanted to play with her toys. Naturally, there were some tears, but Ali won out in the end.”

“She’s at that wonderful age then,” Edge mused, receiving only a tight grin in response as Bono glanced down at Eve, who was staring up at him with tired eyes and starting to dribble—an impossibly cute image that made Edge smile.

When Jordan had been born, she’d been so tiny that he’d been scared to pick her up, even though he’d had more than enough experience with babies at that point. She was still small, and besides her eyes, he couldn’t see much of Bono in her. Eve, however, was going to be all him, Edge could already tell.

“Look at those eyes,” he marvelled. “She’s beautiful, B.”

“It’s all Ali, thank Christ.” Abruptly, Bono stood, causing Eve to vocalize her slight disapproval. “Incidentally, nap time was half an hour ago. Say night night, Evie.” Taking Eve’s hand in his, he made her give Edge a little wave, which he returned, laughing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

One minute turned into ten, and Edge was looking at the cover of an old _Rolling Stone_ magazine when Bono returned to lean over the back of the couch, letting out a noise of disgust.

“God, I hate that fucking photo.”

“You look good in it,” Edge insisted as Bono flopped down on the couch.

“I hate it.”

It seemed Edge had chosen poorly in his reading material. He set the magazine back on the table then glanced over, watching as Bono rubbed his face.

“How are you, Bono?” Edge asked, receiving only a laugh in response. “Doing well, then?”

“I’m fine. Really. I’m just . . .” Bono trailed off with a shrug, rubbing at his thigh as he considered how to continue. “I’m glad to be home, truly. I am. But I’m not entirely here. You know?”

Edge could relate. The end of a tour was always easier than the breaks, especially the small ones, although he had a feeling that Bono wasn’t just meaning that. Which meant that they were on somewhat similar pages, mentally. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“You? Thinking? That’s shocking, Edge, not at all like you,” Bono teased, his smile fading slightly when he caught sight of Edge’s restless fingers, drumming against his thigh. “Sorry. What have you been thinking, then?”

“Well.” It was one of those conversations where phrasing probably was important, given the last couple of weeks. Unfortunately for him, he was at a loss of how to say it delicately, or even if it was the right time to bring it up. All in all, it left him feeling a touch awkward, yet he couldn’t backtrack now, not when Bono was giving him that probing look. “About your problem.”

“My problem?”

Automatically, Edge glanced around the room, a move which left him feeling like a complete and utter dickhead. There was only one other person in the house, he knew, and even if Evie had managed to make her way back into the living room, she would have no comprehension of what was about to be said.

“Wanting to get fucked.” And just like that, the notion of remaining delicate was out the goddamn window.

Bono held up a hand, his expression slightly pained. “Yeah, I knew what you were talking about, Edge. What about it?”

“Well . . . I mean, have you done any more thinking about it?”

In the silence that followed, they just stared at each other until Bono’s eyes narrowed, a look which could mean a number of things.

“I thought we were done talking about this, unless you’ve—”

“No.” Edge shook his head. “I, uh, I haven’t, no.”

“Right.”

They lapsed back into silence, only this time he stared at the carpet, feeling more than a little bit uncomfortable. Thankfully, Bono again picked up the threads of their strange conversation, asking, “What’s on your mind, Edge?”

“I just . . . well, I wanted to know if I could do anything else. To help, I mean. And if, you know. If you’re still thinking about it.”

Having said his piece, Edge finally glanced up and over, where he found Bono chewing on his thumbnail, gaze fixed to the wall. It wasn’t the most encouraging sight, and Edge wondered whether he’d made a giant mistake bringing it up.

They could have been talking about films or family right about now, like their lives were back to normal, no change or awkward conversations whatsoever, but instead here they were. It was tempting to say _don’t worry_ , to bring up the first other thing that came to mind and talk ad nauseam about it until they could pretend.

However, before anything of the sort could be done, Bono dropped his hand and turned his head, offering a hesitant smile. Really, it was more a twisting of his mouth, yet it was still far better than a glare.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Have you considered, uh . . .”

“Considered?”

“Someone else besides me?”

Bono closed his eyes briefly, like he couldn’t quite believe what Edge had just asked. Which was fair—that made two of them.

“No, Edge, I’ve not really thought too much about that. It’s all shambles up here,” Bono said, gesturing to his head. “It’s not as if it’s an easy decision to make, and then you have to face the sting of rejection.” The words cut through Edge like a knife, and Bono immediately looked like he regretted saying them. “I mean—”

Waving a dismissive hand, Edge said, “It’s fine,” ushering them right back into silence while he contemplated the best way to continue the conversation. At his side, Bono seemed content to simply watch him.

There was a question Edge had been wanting to ask since that first mention of the guy in the bar, although he knew there was never a good time to bring it up. But Ali and Jordan would likely be home soon, and their presence would hopefully diffuse any awkwardness that might follow. Besides, it was better than sitting quietly. And it was all Edge could think to discuss. He took a deep breath, causing Bono to raise one expectant eyebrow, clearly knowing something was coming.

“Have you ever, you know. Put something up there?”

It took a second to register, and then Bono’s eyes widened, his hands coming up to cover his face as he fell back against the couch. “Jesus Christ,” he said, letting out a giggle. “I cannot believe you just asked me that.”

Again, that made two of them. Edge’s face felt red hot, but the fact that Bono was laughing told him it was okay to continue. Probably. “I was just curious, is all.”

“Curious? About whether I’ve penetrated myself?” Bono laughed again. “You know, most people are curious about political stance or how others take their tea.”

“I just—”

“I know. Our scientist needs his information.” For a moment, Bono just looked at Edge, his expression surprisingly (and thankfully) warm. “No.”

“You haven’t?”

“I have not. Edge, I told you, it’s about the connection with the other person, more than the actual physical pleasure. The gratification is in the connection.”

Edge shifted in his seat. He’d heard Bono talk about sex so many times over the years, in much more graphic detail. Still, those few words made him feel slightly uncomfortable, considering the past couple of weeks. “I remember. But, I mean, you’d want to enjoy it too, right? What if it hurt? I’ve heard it can hurt.”

“Have you now? From who exactly?”

“. . . I just think you should consider it, is all, if you are going to do this, and it is going to be a one-time thing.” Edge paused, taking in the reaction to his words. “You wouldn’t want it to be a bad experience, no matter how much you were focussed on the connection.”

“Any experience would be an experience,” Bono said quietly, but he looked to be mulling it over. “You’re right, though.”

It was a strange thing to be proud of, being right about something related to anal penetration. “What about a finger?”

“What?” Bono began to laugh once more, his hand coming up to run through his hair as he glanced toward the door before turning back. “Alright, I might have tried that once, but I couldn’t get the right angle and I ended up admitting defeat pretty quickly.”

The words tumbled out of him, and he shook his head once he was done, yet threw Edge a sly look, one that said _I dare you to ask more_. And while he was curious enough to do so, Edge first needed to get past the mental image before opening his mouth again. “Were you laying down, or—”

“I was in the shower, if you must know,” Bono cut in, looking as though he was again about to crack up. “If I remember correctly, I was shampooing my hair when inspiration struck, as it does with . . . various things. Generally song lyrics, but not always, as it just so happens.”

“It probably would have worked better if you had something to put your foot up on. I’ve heard that, anyway.”

“You’ve heard that? Edge, who have you been talking to? Unless . . .” Bono peered at him. “You wouldn’t happen to be speaking from experience, would you now?”

“No!” Edge exclaimed, eliciting a delighted chuckle. “It’s James I’m referring to. You know, Adam’s friend who’s gay?”

“Uh-huh, and have these been recent conversations?”

“Not that recent. Last year sometime. Don’t ask how it came up.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “There might have been tequila involved.”

“That’s enough of an explanation right there,” Bono replied. His eyes were dancing, a sight which left Edge feeling more relaxed than he had in days. It was not the reaction he had expected to receive, and he was almost glad to have brought it up, no matter how uncomfortable the topic was. Anything to make Bono look like that. To return them close to normal.

“Have you ever considered a toy? Like . . . I don’t know, a dildo?”

“Edge, I just can’t walk into an adult store in Dublin. Or in any other city, really. The press would have a field day.”

Edge nodded, already imagining the headlines that would come about from such a trip. “What if I went?”

“You know you’re famous too, right?”

“Not like you. I think I could get away with it.”

“Maybe the four of us could go in together. Now that would really get them talking.”

“Perhaps, although it might be hard to get Larry on board,” Edge mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What about a zucchini?”

It was, he thought, a suggestion to be proud of, especially because it made Bono laugh so hard his shoulders started to shake. Leaning back against the couch, Edge allowed himself to bask in the moment before offering another thought or two. And then the moment was over, far sooner than he would have liked. In the distance, he heard keys rattling, followed by footsteps.

“Oh shit, it’s the wife.” Bono leaped to his feet, adding, “Act normal,” as he started toward the front door, a hand running over his cheek.

Smiling, Edge watched him go, then slowly pulled himself off the couch, the pitter-patter of small feet in the next room causing his grin to widen.

It was hours before he was stepping through Adam’s front door, tipsy on red wine to the point where he perhaps shouldn’t have driven home. He’d made it in one piece, though, which was always a bonus.

It had been a great night, with Jordan clinging to his leg for what felt like an eternity and good company distracting him from thinking about and missing his own little girls. Again, Ali had mentioned him coming to live with them, while Bono sat back with a glass in his hand, watching the two of them together with an expression Edge just hadn’t been able to figure out. He’d thanked her before saying no, of course, and let her hug him tight and kiss him by the front door.

“I’m heading into town tomorrow,” Bono had piped up outside, barefoot and shivering as he walked Edge to his car. “Do you want to come?”

“Sure thing,” he’d replied, and Bono had smiled, said his goodnights then waved to Edge as he’d backed out of the driveway.

It had been a great night, that buzzed feeling lingering as he walked into the living room and discovered Adam, clad only in a towel, on the couch with the Nintendo controller in his hand. Edge was just glad he was covered at all. There had been a few incidents over the years, due to certain people not being at all self-conscious about their physical attributes.

“Have a good night?” Adam asked after pausing the game.

“Weren’t you going out?”

“She rescheduled. Apparently, we’re now going out tomorrow night.”

“Oh. You should have said something, Ali cooked up a great meal.”

Adam shrugged. “It’s fine, I only found out last minute.”

“Okay,” Edge said as he flopped down onto the couch, perfectly ungraceful, before sparing a glance at the television. Mario again. “Have you been playing this all day?”

“Well, not all day. I did sleep for a while, remember? And then I watched a film. A rather bad film, as it turned out.”

Edge laughed. “I envy your ability to do nothing.”

“It is a wonderful skill to have. Did you have a nice evening?”

“I did. You should see the girls, Adam, they’re so big.”

“I’m sure,” Adam replied. And that was that. Conversation over, it seemed, as the game was unpaused, the _Mario_ theme once more sounding throughout the room. He was further than he had been when Edge had last seen him play, looking as though he was getting the hang of it. “And how’s Bono?”

Conversation _not_ over, then. Edge frowned, saying, “You saw him two days ago.”

“I know that. I was just curious. He’s been a bit . . . off recently.”

Off was a word for it, he supposed as he watched Mario collect a few coins. It came as no surprise that Adam and Larry had noticed, but Edge wasn’t sure what conclusions, if any, they had come to regarding the whole thing. Had they suspected anything? “He was fine.”

“That’s good then.”

They sat quietly for a while, the game soon losing him as a willing audience. Instead, he found his gaze shifting from the screen to Adam.

He’d obviously showered at some point in the evening, his hair still slightly damp, the towel completely dry. It was one of the amazing things about him, his lack of shyness regarding his body—or the bodies of other people, for that matter—when it came to sex or general existence. He’d never had a reason to be shy, though, something which reoccurred to Edge as his gaze moved to Adam’s well-built chest.

A thought was beginning to form, one that required a little more consideration and two willing parties. However, Edge was interrupted before could get too far into his deliberations, by Adam sighing and pausing the game. “What?”

“What?”

“You’re looking at me.”

“Oh,” Edge said, sounding like a proud pervert who had just been caught. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

Thankfully, Adam seemed amused by the whole thing, a factor—along with the wine in Edge’s system—which prompted him to lean forward and ask, “Have you ever slept with a man, Adam?”

It was the type of question which might have fazed a number of men, but not Adam, his only outward reaction being two slightly raised eyebrows. “No.”

“Oh.”

“Have you?”

Perhaps if Edge had been in a clearer frame of mind, he might have seen that one coming. And yes, he was fazed, but only a tad. A near-minuscule amount. “No, I have not.”

“Were you looking to sleep with one?”

“What? No, I’m—”

“Edge, I’m not going to judge. I simply think it’s a reasonable question to ask considering the way you were just staring at me.”

“Look,” Edge started after a short pause, feeling a little flushed. “It’s just, I have a friend who is curious about this sort of thing, okay?”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “What friend?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Is it Gavin?”

“No, it’s not Gavin. Adam, it really doesn’t matter, forget I said—”

“Is it Bono?” Edge stopped short, and Adam’s mouth dropped open. “Is it? Is it Bono?”

“I can’t . . .” It wasn’t worth the argument, not now. Adam was sensitive to certain matters pertaining to the other three, and beyond. If given an inkling something was up, he would quietly observe, perhaps ask a few vague yet relevant questions, and confirm his suspicions. “You can’t say anything.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Adam! Bono told me this in confidence, and if he knew I said anything, he—”

“Edge,” Adam cut in, his expression turning serious as he reached out to grasp Edge’s arm. “I won’t say anything.”

There was absolutely no reason to doubt him. This was, after all, Adam. Out of the four of them, he was likely the best at keeping secrets. “Thank you.”

“Is that why he’s been so . . .” He vaguely waved his hand in the air, a gesture which painted a better picture than some words.

“Yeah.”

“Wow, that is . . . can I ask what the nature of it is? I mean, is he just curious, or does he want . . . something more than curiosity?”

Edge sighed. It wasn’t really his place to be saying anything at all, let alone specific details. Adam did seem truly interested, though, and Bono had said he wanted someone who knew him. Laying it out here and now could result in a potential solution, one that Edge hadn’t had nearly enough time to deliberate over.

“He wants to know what it would be like. Just once.”

“And by it, you mean—”

“Being, you know. Fucked.”

Again, Adam’s eyebrows went up, a hint of surprise appearing on his face. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling loudly. “Wow. Does Ali—”

‘He’s talked to her about it, apparently.”

“Apparently? Did she say anything about it tonight?”

“Why would she? It’s not exactly a conversation you would have over the dinner table.”

Adam huffed out a laugh. “I might.”

That was fair. “I know you might,” Edge replied, grinning despite himself. “He’s, uh, he’s really into the idea. Mostly it’s the emotional connection he’s interested in.”

Adam nodded. “That sounds like Bono.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“So it just can’t be a random person then.”

“For more reasons than one, yes.”

“Right.” Frowning, Adam pondered this for all of five seconds before getting up and switching off the Nintendo and television, obviously done for the evening. “Can you imagine that story in the newspapers?”

Edge didn’t want to even consider that. He was still stuck on the potential media reaction to Bono buying a fucking dildo.

“What about my friend James?” Adam asked as he sat back down. “He’s very discreet.”

“I don’t know, Adam. B barely knows him.”

“Hmm.” Cocking his head, he glanced first at Edge and then at the ceiling, frowning as he mulled the whole thing over. “Were you considering me?”

“Um. Well, yes. I mean, it’s Bono’s decision, not mine, but I want to help him and would that, would that be an option?” Edge stammered, feeling like a teenager asking the girl he liked out, instead of propositioning one best friend for another.

Absently, Adam fiddled with the hem of his towel, his frown deepening. “I don’t know. It’s a rather hard question to answer, isn’t it?”

“I know.”

He blinked, swiftly turning Edge’s way as he asked, “You know?” It wasn’t something Edge wanted to get into, not when it hadn’t been that long since Bono opened his mouth to make a soon-to-be rejected suggestion. “Did he ask you?”

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

Alright,” Adam said after a probing pause, his voice gentle. “I’m sorry, Edge.”

They lapsed into a brief silence, even though Edge could sense Adam had a few more pressing questions up his sleeve. It was just like him, though, to bite his tongue and go without.

“Anyway,” Edge started, figuring they should see this conversation through to the end. “That’s it, that’s . . . you know, I’m just worried he’s going to get hurt, and I know that you wouldn’t, Adam. Hurt him, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. And he’s going into this blind too.” Abruptly, he began to laugh, surprising even himself. “I actually considered going to the library and doing some research on gay sex, which is . . . I’m not entirely sure how this became my problem, but for the past couple of days, it’s all I can think about.” Adam grinned, yet said nothing, his silence prompting Edge to add, “I asked him about sex toys today, Adam.”

“Over dinner?”

“No, before. Ali wasn’t there. I thought that one might be beneficial to him.” Burying his head in his hands, he suppressed a laugh, instead mumbling, “There have been so many fucking strange conversations in my life these past few days.”

“A sex toy probably would help,” Adam agreed, causing Edge to let his hands drop. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and then Adam started to laugh, a sound which was far too contagious to resist.

It took them a while to calm down, but eventually Adam was reaching out a hand to gently rest on Edge’s shoulder, saying, “Look, I don’t have any toys. I’ve never needed them.” As it was rare for Adam to boast, Edge let that comment pass without contributing his thoughts, though he did roll his eyes, earning the lightest of slaps against his back. “But James might, you never know. I’ll give him a ring—”

“Don’t tell him anything.”

“I’ll say it’s for me, he’ll probably believe that,” Adam said, and Edge nodded. It was certainly plausible. “I’ll see what else I can get out of him too.”

“Such as?”

“Well, you were going to go to the library, weren’t you?”

“Are you going to ask your friend for tips on gay sex?” Edge asked incredulously. In response, Adam merely shrugged, a wide grin emerging, prompting Edge to laugh. He really could not believe the day he was having.

“Do you think Bono knows the bedlam he’s caused?”

The smile dropped from Edge’s face. Bono knew. Of course he did. Edge didn’t tell Adam that, though. He just reached out, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, Adam. Thanks for being . . . thank you.”

“Of course.” With a nod, Adam stood, holding his towel in place as he did so. He managed to walk all of five steps before Edge stopped him, more than a little eager to know.

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“What about the other thing?”

Adam sighed. “I just don’t know, Edge.”

It wasn’t the definitive _yes_ or _no_ Edge was after, yet it was completely understandable. “Alright. Well, good night.”

“Night.”

Edge turned back to face the now blank television, listening to Adam’s footsteps padding down the hallway. It hadn’t been a _no_ , though it could be, after some careful consideration. Still, being in limbo between the two was more promising than an outright refusal. Whether he should tell Bono about the conversation was the next thing to ponder. It felt like a bastard move, keeping something like this from him, yet if he did find out, only for Adam to say no . . .

For a while, Edge sat there, thinking it over until a headache began to form, coaxing him to drag his arse off the couch and head to bed himself.


	5. Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

Bono was on the hunt. For what, specifically, Edge still wasn’t entirely clear on. All he knew was they’d been to three different jewellery stores so far, yet Bono remained unsatisfied. Briefly, the rings display held his interest, and then the necklaces, followed by the earrings. It was only when he shuffled towards the bracelets that Edge gave in and asked what he was looking for.

“Something shiny,” Bono muttered.

In a store filled with shiny things, it wasn’t the most helpful response when seeking out something in particular. However, Edge would have been a fool to expect a definitive answer, considering who he was dealing with, and the shopping trips they’d enjoyed together in the past. Dutifully, he stayed quiet, following Bono around the store until they ended up back in front of the necklaces, the clerk watching them rather anxiously the entire time.

“What about that one, The Edge?” Bono asked, jamming his finger against the glass.

“The diamond heart?”

“Yes. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Edge nodded. Despite being dwarfed by the rest of the pendants in the window, he quickly decided it was his favourite. It was lovely in its simplicity, and he knew Ali would wear it well. He assumed it was for Ali, anyway.

“It’s pretty. I think Ali would love it.”

“Good.”

“What did you do?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s not her birthday, or Christmas, or an anniversary,” Edge said, receiving a dirty look.

“Does a husband need a reason to buy his missus a gift?”

They definitely did not. Still, he had a gut feeling about this one. “Did you piss her off?”

Huffing, Bono turned back to look at the necklace, his expression soon softening. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “More upset her, I suppose. But she’s fine now, Edge. I mean, she is . . . she’ll like it, right?”

While Edge had his suspicions about what had upset Ali, he didn’t dare voice them. Instead, he patted Bono on the back, saying, “It’s perfect.” The smile he received in response left Edge with the urge to hug him.

He held back, however, heading to look at the clocks while Bono was finally attended to. There, Edge discovered it wasn’t even fucking one o’clock. He felt as if he’d been up for a day, yet it had only been a few hours. It had been one of those nights, though, where he tossed and turned and was plagued by strange dreams, which he instantly forgot upon awaking, but was almost sure Bono had been in at least one.

The not-so-peaceful night had ended when Edge was awakened by the phone ringing and ringing through his closed door. Hard and disorientated, he’d stumbled out, only to find Adam had gotten there first. After raising an eyebrow at Edge’s crotch, he’d asked whoever was on the other side how they were, chuckling when Edge threw up two fingers his way before shuffling off to have a shower.

He’d only just managed to wash the sleep from his eyes when a loud banging sounded at the door. “That was Bono, letting you know he’ll be around in about an hour, so you’ve plenty of time to attend to business in there.”

“Fuck off, Clayton,” Edge had called, rolling his eyes when Adam just laughed.

After finishing up at the jewellery store, they headed to a restaurant that Edge was sure had only recently opened. Bono, however, held a different opinion on the matter. “I came here with Gav for my birthday last year.”

“I was with you two for your birthday last year,” Edge countered, “and I’ve never been here, B.”

Frowning, Bono glanced around the room, then shrugged. “Who even knows anymore? What do you say to ordering a bottle of wine?”

“You have to drive home, you know.”

“Then you’ll just have to drink more than me, won’t you?” he said, reaching for the wine list.

Edge couldn’t help but smile. They both knew who was driving home, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Bono. A pricey white was selected, along with their meals—fish for Edge, steak and mushrooms for Bono.

As they waited, he launched into talking about his kids before cutting himself off to discuss the tour, fidgeting all the while. The restaurant was only half full, yet Edge could sense the eyes watching them without having to glance around. Still, he wasn’t sure if that was the full reason for Bono being so restless. After all, not one person had bothered them, and while being stared at in public did wonders for raising insecurity levels, he was far better at enduring the looks than he used to be.

“You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bono countered as he generously refilled his glass. “Look at where we are in life, The Edge.”

“It’s all I know how to do sometimes, B,” Edge responded dryly, not entirely convinced by the non-answer he’d just received.

They ate quietly, Bono tearing into his steak like a man who hadn’t eaten for weeks while Edge took his time, pausing midway through his meal to finish his drink, and observe. Bono had been uncharacteristically subdued for most of the day, in a way that might have led to some conclusions being hastily made, had he not rubbed at his eye twice in the span of one minute. At least, Edge hoped he was just tired and not upset with his present company, or in general.

“Sleep well last night?”

Bono blinked at him, looking as though his brain was, for once, experiencing somewhat of a delay. And then he was back on track, setting his cutlery down and again reaching for the bottle. “Evie’s teething.”

“Oh,” Edge replied, sympathetic yet also slightly glad to hear it. “That’s always fun.”

“Mmm,” Bono agreed as he topped up his glass, then Edge’s, finishing off the bottle. “Interested in ordering another?”

“Maybe later.”

There was often about a sixty percent chance that Edge’s _maybe_ ’s actually meant _yes_ , unless he was dealing with Bono, during which that percentage had a habit of rising significantly. They both knew this, although Edge maintained to anyone who brought it up—mostly Larry—that he was not a pushover.

Except he was. But not always.

Satisfied, Bono leaned back in his chair and gazed out the window, almost certainly aware that Edge was watching.

They’d not talked about the elephant in the room all day, and while he was itching to bring up Adam’s name, he also didn’t want to piss Bono off—or worse, upset him—especially not in public.

“What are you thinking, Edge?” Bono asked, leaving the outside world behind with a curious smile.

“Just tour things, really.” They both knew it was a complete lie, yet instead of calling Edge out, Bono simply huffed out a near-silent laugh and resumed his meal. “What about Adam?”

His cutlery clattered against his plate as he swiftly glanced up, giving Edge a look that could best be described as prickly. And also probably deserved. So much for trying not to piss the guy off. It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. The words had tumbled out on their own accord, an excuse which would do _wonders_ in a court of law.

“What _about_ Adam?”

There was absolutely no way of getting around it now. Edge knew this from experience. No, it was best just to put it out there, take whatever was thrown his way, then work through it once the fireworks were over. “Well, you know,” he started, awkwardly clearing his throat when Bono raised an eyebrow. “Adam is pretty open-minded, and he loves you, B.”

“I’m well aware of both of those things. And?”

“And you wanted someone who knew you and who you knew.” Edge paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “He’d probably do it, if you asked him.”

Bono barked out a laugh, exclaiming, “I’m not having his horse dick inside of me!”

A hush fell over the room, and it took all of Edge’s power not to react. Would he open the paper tomorrow morning and see multiple eyewitnesses discussing this conversation? It was certainly possible, though he hoped to God it didn’t happen.

“No, Edge,” Bono added, mercifully having lowered the volume. He didn’t look angry anymore, just dejected, rubbing his eye and then his mouth before glancing up. “Not Adam. Not him.”

There went that idea. Edge nodded, though he was feeling a bit deflated himself. “Alright then.”

What more was there to say on the matter? A number of things, really, yet he didn’t feel like pressing his luck. Not in the next thirty seconds or so, anyway. Instead, he downed his drink then went about finishing his meal, looking up only when Bono pushed his own plate away and began tapping his fingers on the table.

“Have you been thinking about this all day?”

“Not all day. Last night, mostly,” Edge admitted. “And, uh, in the shower this morning, for a little while.”

Unexpectedly, Bono broke into a smile, faint as it was. “I’m such a distraction, aren’t I, The Edge?” There were so many ways to respond to that question, some not that nice. Wisely, Edge bit his tongue. “It’s draining. It’s so draining.”

It was tempting to drop the conversation entirely and buy another bottle of wine or two. Anything to get Bono to the point where he was quick to laugh his arse off and completely distracted, at least for a few hours. The rest of the day, even. However, Edge wanted so badly to fix it for him. This wasn’t a problem that looked as though it was going away any time soon, after all. And together—now that Bono was smiling—perhaps they could come up with a couple of possible solutions.

“What about Gavin?”

“Gavin? Really?” Fortunately, Bono didn’t appear to be interested in starting an argument. But the way he screwed his face up told Edge enough. There went another option. “You’re giving me Gavin?”

“Well—”

“He’d talk about it for the next hundred years, you know he would.”

There was no arguing with that, so Edge didn’t even try. “Still, he might do it.”

“Not Gav.”

It was a pity, really. Besides Adam, Gavin was probably the best choice that Edge could think to bring to the table. “Okay, what about Guggi?”

“Oh, Jesus, no,” Bono said, his eyes widening at the thought. “Could you even imagine?”

For a moment, Edge did just that. And it wasn’t a pretty thought, as much as he loved Guggi. “Yeah, right, good point. Larry, then?”

It was as if he suggested Bono use a kitten as a football, a look of horror marring his features. “He’s like my fucking brother!” he exclaimed, that alarm shifting to trepidation as he realized what he’d just said. For good reason. “Edge, listen—”

“And what am I?”

“You’re . . .” Bono trailed off, fiddling with the back of his head as if searching for the good explanation or two he’d buried in his hair. “Look, forget I said anything, alright? Eat your salmon.”

Shoving his plate away, Edge snapped, “I’m done. Finish your fucking wine.”

He drove them home, figuring it was the better option. A Bono _without_ a bit of wine in him was barely trustworthy to drive as it is. Although it wasn’t his fault that he was prone to distraction—it was just how he’d been wired.

They were still near the heart of town when Edge, already hating the silence, flicked on the radio. It was a move that caught Bono’s attention and held it, even when Edge refused to look anywhere but the road ahead. He was acutely aware of every movement happening in the passenger seat, however, watching out the corner of his eye as a cigarillo was lit up, that familiar smell soon wafting through the car and out of the inched-down window.

‘Under the Bridge’ led into ‘Stay’ by Shakespears Sister, followed by Michael Jackson’s latest, a song which Bono decided was not allowed to reach its conclusion. After switching off the music, he stubbed out his smoke then said, “Pull over.”

Confused, Edge glanced to his left. Was Bono going to be sick? He certainly looked pale enough for it.

“What?”

“Pull over!”

Edge didn’t have to be told a third time. He coasted the car to a stop, turning off the ignition before asking, “Are you alright? Don’t throw up in the car.”

“I am not going to vomit, Edge. Besides, it’s my fucking car, what do you care if I throw up in it?”

“I’d have to drive the rest of the way smelling it, that’s why!” he exclaimed, receiving an eye-roll and silence in response. “If you’re not ill—”

“I upset you.” It wasn’t a question, yet Edge found himself nodding anyway. “Edge, you’ve got to understand. I thought you already did understand.”

“Understand what?”

Bono leaned forward in his seat, elbows digging into his thighs as he rubbed at his mouth. As was often the case when he got that look about him, Edge was tempted to reach out. Offer some sort of comfort. A hand on the shoulder. A hug. He didn’t, though. Instead, he just sat there, waiting until Bono gave him a rueful smile.

“Adam and Larry. And Gavin and Guggi, too. There’s them. There’s them all together and then there’s you and Ali.”

Blankly, Edge stared at him. “Are you . . . what?”

“I’m not . . . Edge, I’m not talking in the romantic sense. Just—I don’t know how to explain it. You two are so similar, you know?”

It was something Bono had said in the past, however many years ago, a comparison that Edge had not been able to see—and still couldn’t. The first time, he’d laughed it off. Now, though, all he had in him was a vague nod, which he only did because Bono was looking so earnest. “I guess.”

“So, I don’t know.” He shook his head, worrying his lip as he watched Edge continue to process. “You throw all these names at me, and I couldn’t even think about doing such a thing with them because they’re my brothers. But you, you’re just different, Edge. And that’s a good thing, it is. And I don’t say this to try and make you feel guilty, believe me, but I just don’t think I could ever sleep with anyone but you or her. So, I guess I’m fucked.”

There was no way that Edge could comprehend what had just been said to him, not yet. For a moment, he just stared, dumbfounded before figuring something had to be said. “Bono—”

“I just wanted to make sure you understood,” Bono interrupted, turning his attention out his window. “You can go now.”

It didn’t seem right, leaving it there. Edge wanted to say more, to ask more, yet he didn’t know where or how to start. So he turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the road, the two of them quiet until Bono reached over and switched the radio back on.

The drive to Adam’s felt like an eternity, and Edge didn’t know what to expect when they arrived. It wasn’t like he was picturing a scene or anything, he simply just did not know how to operate in such moments with Bono. The silence, the awkwardness. Edge being excluded from the friend group but apparently welcome in one where Ali was the sole member. It was completely new territory, as had been a few other things in the past couple of months with them.

“Are you just going to stay there, then?” Bono asked a good fifty seconds after Edge pulled the handbrake. “These seats don’t make for a comfy bed, I can tell you that, but if you want to stay, I won’t stop you.”

It was a joke, although Bono’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Still, it was promising.

They got out of the car, coming to stand next to each other near the driver’s side. “Are you okay to get home?” Edge asked as if Bono had enjoyed a few bottles of wine over lunch. “I could drop you there and get Adam to come pick me up?”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, and then he leaned in, hugging Edge so tightly there was no choice but to reciprocate. Soon enough, Bono was pulling away, saying, “I’ll call you,” as he climbed in behind the wheel, allowing his door to be shut for him.

Edge watched the car back out of the driveway, waiting until it was out of sight before heading inside, where he found Adam on the couch with a book in hand.

“And how was your day?”

“Fine,” Edge answered without stopping, determined to discover some serenity and not speak to anyone for at least two hours. Enough time to have a nap. Or, more likely, think and think and get absolutely nowhere.

It was dark in his room, the curtains still closed, bed unmade due to his rush that morning. Flicking on the light, however, turned out to be a mistake. Baffled, he blinked stupidly at his pillow, then stepped closer for a better look.

A dildo. There was a fucking giant pink dildo on his pillow, looking to be at least nine inches long and as thick as his wrist.

He picked it up, then headed back into the living room to stand over Adam, who paid him no heed. “What is this?”

Breaking into a grin, Adam glanced up from his book, saying, “Oh, you found it,” like Edge had discovered a missing sock, nothing more.

“Found it? It’s fucking gigantic, Adam, I’d have to be blind to miss it!”

“Well, after hearing you bring up sex toys last night, I decided to see James today, and he gave me—”

“You want Bono to use _this_?” Edge asked, gesturing emphatically with the dildo. “It would split him in two!”

It seemed watching a dildo wave in the air was too much for Adam. He began laughing, shaking his head as he set his book down.

“Actually, I just wanted to see your expression,” he admitted, snaking one hand under the couch cushion. From there, he pulled out another dildo, one that was smaller in size, far more reasonable, and red instead of hot pink. “He also gave me this.”

“That’s better, I guess,” Edge muttered, taking it in his free hand to examine closer. It was similar in size to his own erect penis, a thought which made him feel a touch warm.

“That should be our next album cover, you holding them both like that,” Adam suggested.

In response, Edge rolled his eyes, then turned without comment and headed back into his room. Not sure of what else to do, he threw the dildos in the drawer of his bedside table, frowning when he noticed yet another new addition to his things—a videotape, sitting next to his lamp. It was unlabelled and therefore unlike every other tape in his collection.

The smart thing to do would be ask Adam about it. However, Edge was still reeling from the dildos, so, curious, he slipped the tape into his VCR and hit play.

He’d expected a home movie, or perhaps a film. Instead, he was greeted by a man with a cock in his mouth, a sight that had him hitting the _stop_ button in a flash.

“James also gave me some gay pornography.”

Dazed, Edge glanced up to find Adam standing on the threshold, looking far too amused. “Jesus, Adam.”

“I didn’t expect you to watch it straight away,” Adam admitted, chuckling. “He also wrote down some notes which you might find useful, and less . . . startling. Here.”

Edge took the notebook being offered, unsure of what to expect after the last three gifts from James. The first thing he saw upon flipping to the first page was the word enema, underlined twice. Swiftly, he shut the notebook, setting it on his bedside table then giving in and laughing, ignoring the overwhelming urge to go scream at some trees or something. Or maybe groan into a pillow. His fucking life. It really wasn’t funny. And yet . . . “Jesus, Adam.”

“This house is becoming a perverted mess,” Adam agreed as he sat down on the bed. “Did you and Bono talk about—”

“He won’t with you.”

“Oh,” he let out, offering Edge a small smile. “Well, that’s a load off.”

“For you it is. It’s me or nothing, it seems.”

“You mean—”

“I don’t know, Adam, I really don’t. Sometimes I think that maybe he . . .” Edge trailed off, shaking his head before adding, “I don’t know.”

He wasn’t fishing for reassurance, although it would have been nice. And usually, Adam was good for it. But not today, it seemed. For a while, he sat quietly, looking deep in thought as Edge waited for a pearl of wisdom to leave his mouth.

“You’ll figure it out,” Adam said finally, squeezing Edge’s shoulder before getting up and leaving, the door quietly closing behind him. And just like that, Edge was left alone with his thoughts, a far cry from the serenity he’d been after only a few minutes prior.


	6. The Problem At Hand

And there Adam went, once again abandoning his bedroom to spend some more time in the bathroom. Edge couldn’t see him, but he sure could hear doors opening and closing, footsteps sounding through the guest cottage. It was distracting, drawing his attention away from the actual distraction he’d sought out, having gone through the extensive video collection a couple of times before grabbing one at random to put on.

Five minutes into _Tootsie_ , however, it had become clear neither his heart nor mind was really in it. And now, about forty minutes in, he was more interested in the back and forth happening between the place he was currently occupying. Until those footsteps fell silent, of course, leaving him with nothing but his wandering thoughts.

He was stuck on the day, on the past few weeks, on this conversation or that conversation, and somehow managed to miss the latest set of footsteps. When Adam suddenly sat down next to him, Edge almost jumped off the fucking couch. “Shit!”

“Sorry,” Adam said, sounding anything but. “Engrossed in the movie, were we?”

“Something like that.”

Briefly, Adam glanced at the television, smirking when his attention returned to Edge. “What’s happened so far?”

There were no immediate answers to be found within the current scene, though he did stop to look. “There was something about a tomato, and then he put on a dress, I don’t know.”

“That about sums it up, actually,” Adam said, chuckling. “Anyway, I’m off.”

“Right, you've got that date. With, uh.”

“Jane.”

“Right.” Edge nodded as if he actually had known her name but, for some strange reason, forgot. It was better than the alternative, him not listening when he was supposed to. “Jane, yeah.”

“It’s likely I’ll see you tomorrow, not tonight. There is still some leftover pasta sauce in the fridge for dinner if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“There’s a good boy.” Grinning, Adam cuffed Edge behind the ear, then stood and headed for the door, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he went.

With one distraction out of the way, Edge returned to the other, lasting only a few more minutes before getting up and turning off the film. Another time, perhaps.

For a while, he wandered the house, flicking through records, tidying his bedroom and looking through drawers, all the while contemplating picking up the phone or even getting in his car and going for a drive. It was, though, a bit of a silly idea, one he ultimately nixed after moving to the kitchen and spotting the half-drunk bottle of vodka on the counter.

He poured himself a generous glass, flicked the radio on, then opened the refrigerator door. The pasta sauce was barely considered, a simpler idea quickly winning out. It wasn’t the night for effort. He pulled out a couple of eggs and the milk, then, on a whim, grabbed the bacon as well.

After slicing it up into little pieces, he tossed the bacon into the frypan on low, turning his attention to his eggs, decidedly committed to his endeavour when the phone began to ring, then kept on ringing. “Hello,” Edge answered only when it became clear he was not dealing with a quitter.

“I was about to give up,” Larry said dryly.

“Yeah, I wanted to finish beating my eggs.”

“Beating your . . . are you baking a cake, Edge?”

Cradling the phone against his shoulder, Edge poured the mix into the pan, turning up the heat a little as he said, “I’m making scrambled eggs, you knob.”

“For dinner? Is that all?”

“I had a big lunch.” With a wooden spoon, he began pulling the eggs across the pan. “And I threw in some bacon.”

“Well, it sounds absolutely delicious. Are you playing REO Speedwagon?”

Edge paused, listening. “It does seem like it.”

“You know,” Larry started with a chuckle, “I seem to remember you and Bono having a singalong to them one night in front of the jukebox.”

“Really? I don’t recall that at all.”

“Mmm, I’m not surprised, you were both three sheets to the wind and then some.”

“That doesn’t sound at all like us.”

“Of course not. Anyway, I was actually looking for Adam.”

“He’s out with Jane.”

“Jane, which one is she? The redhead?”

“No,” Edge said, flicking off the heat and reaching into the cupboard above for a plate. “I think she’s blonde actually.”

“Well, then who am I thinking of?”

“Julia?”

“ _Julia_ , that’s right. Ah, she was lovely. Well, tell Adam I rang when you see him next, would you?”

It was just typical. “Of course, Larry, since I am Adam’s secretary and all.”

“Maybe you should begin looking for your own place then?” Larry suggested.

The day had been far too long to start up _that_ conversation once again. “I’ll let him know, now go away. My eggs are going cold.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we? I’ll talk to you soon.”

They said their goodbyes, Edge hanging up the phone with a smile. Carefully, he transferred his eggs from pan to plate, then proceeded to eat them while standing in the middle of the kitchen. Like a classy person might. And what went well with eggs and bacon? A huge gulp of vodka, naturally. It burned on the way down—one of the few good burns that existed in life—and after dumping his dishes in the sink to soak, he finished off his drink, relishing that warmth.

It was probably a bad idea, eyeing off the rest of the bottle.

He refilled his glass anyway.

It was still too early to consider going to bed, so he watched mindless television until it all became too much and he had to find another distraction. After doing the dishes and wasting a bit more time, Edge ended up in his bedroom with a third glass of vodka in hand, feeling a bit giddy. Aimless, he searched through his drawers and cupboard for something entertaining, eventually landing on a photo album. Unfortunately, it was not the one he thought.

He’d been after pictures of his girls, of the guys, the album that housed two pages, back to back, of photos he’d taken of Bono in Berlin. That day (and part of the night), Edge had been eager to test out his new camera, and Bono had offered to be his apparently reluctant volunteer slash model. He’d only complained once, though, right in the beginning when they were still on the street, having not yet made it upstairs to stand on the balcony, stretch out on the couch, the pillows, black leather all the rage.

They’d been tucked away since being developed, but Edge was curious to take another look. To compare the weariness which had lingered on Bono’s face during that time (no matter how hard he tried to hide it) with what existed there now and see if there was a difference. Edge wasn’t entirely sure there would be.

It had been partly his fault in Berlin, his own problems dragging Bono right on down alongside him. And now . . .

There was no way to know. Edge had no idea where that photo album was, and all the one in his hand had were pictures of Aislinn and himself, which he absolutely was in no rush to glance over. Carefully, he returned to album to its rightful place, then settled back on his bed, scrubbing at his face as he willed his thoughts to toddle off and discover something simple to marvel over. The memory of a nice meal, perhaps, or the first time he’d been to Paris, young, dumb and not alone.

Naturally, this attempt at normalcy got him absolutely nowhere, so he gave up fairly fast, turning his head to spare that notepad a glance. It was lying on the covers, and Edge had no fucking clue of what to do with it—or the other things, that that matter. Should he still read up and gather some information to pass on to Bono in the hopes that he might change his mind? Or even give the notepad, the dildos and video to Bono without even looking at or touching more than necessary, all the while hoping that Ali didn’t disown him? Or should he just forget about the whole fucking thing?

In the end, curiosity got the better of him, as it often did. He sat up, took the notepad in hand, and, having quickly moved past the part about enemas, started to read.

As it turned out, there was nothing really which came as a surprise. Either he already knew it from prior conversations with James or from picking up a book or two, or it was straightforward stuff he could have easily figured out on his own. It wasn’t like he was expecting some mystical step required to adequately perform anal sex—he wasn’t that much of an eejit—but still, he was faintly disappointed to have not experienced a significant education on the matter. Maybe he really did just know more than he thought?

With a sigh, he flopped back against the pillows once more, idly rubbing his stomach as ruminated over what he’d just read. And as he did, that feeling returned, the urge to reach out and make a phone call. Surely, Jordan and Eve would have been put to bed by now, but what, then, were their parents doing with their time? It didn’t feel right to call, yet that didn’t stop Edge from wondering. Had Bono gone out? Or had he stayed home with Ali and taken her to bed?

Edge stilled his hand at the thought, swiftly sitting up. It wasn’t something he should be entertaining, he knew. However, sometimes it was hard to slow his mind down and move it along. A distraction was needed.

Unsure of what else to do, he reached over and grabbed the Pablo Neruda book. He’d not had a chance to touch it since they’d been in California, despite the enduring curiosity he had for the words contained inside. There was nothing stopping him now, no interruptions due on the horizon. He turned to the first page and began to read.

It didn’t take him long to get a sense of sex from some of the poems, which really didn’t help his mood. Heat was pooling in his groin, while the vodka warmed him elsewhere. It was alright, on one level. The house was silent, and he knew Adam would be gone for hours. If Edge were to take advantage of his this newfound and absolute privacy, if he were to listen to what his body was screaming at him, then there wouldn’t be a single problem, unless he allowed there to be (and he might, as it was what he did best sometimes).

After setting the book aside, he found himself drumming his fingers against his thigh, staring at the television. Yes, he was curious, not to mention a bit tipsy, and more than a little horny. Not that there was a correlation between that issue and what he was considering playing on the television. No, Edge viewed it more as an experiment. Watch the tape, see if there was anything missing from the notepad which might be helpful, and then stop the movie before turning his thoughts south. Perhaps a _Playboy_ or something would be useful then. He was sure there was one lying around somewhere. This was Adam’s house, after all.

Without giving the whole thing a second thought, Edge picked up the remote and hit rewind. Judging from the brief scene he’d witnessed earlier, he figured there was a fair chance the tape was at least partway through. And sure enough, he was proven correct.

While the VCR whirred, he went and checked the front door was locked, popped to the loo and grabbed a glass of water then returned to his room, flicking the telly on before settling back onto the bed.

The video had stopped rewinding, ready for consumption. Taking a deep breath, Edge hit play, far more prepared for whatever came his way than the first time around.

He’d half expected sex from the get-go; instead, the first thing he saw was a man with dark hair wearing black jeans and a black tee, innocuously lying in bed reading a book. It wouldn’t last, this innocence. Edge knew how these types of films went. Sure enough, another man soon entered the room, this one blonde and wearing a white shirt.

The sound was turned down, and when they began to speak it was nearly impossible to make out what they were saying. It was probably for the best, Edge figured. No matter how much pornos tried to have decent acting or a proper storyline, it never worked.

Twenty seconds of this was all he could endure before giving in and hitting fast forward. The two men sped up, taking and gesticulating manically for so long that Edge started to wonder whether Adam had swapped the tape out when he wasn’t looking and left him with a film featuring absolutely no penetration.

This deliberation, however, was interrupted by the blonde finally taking his clothes off, the dark-haired man quickly following suit, causing Edge to hit play, his interest renewed.

For a while, the two kissed, their hands slipping here, there and everywhere—a somewhat sweet scene that obviously would not last. And it didn’t, the kissing shifting south, right on down the dark-haired man’s chest and stomach until the blonde was able to take his cock in his mouth.

It was where Edge had landed on earlier, and it wasn’t nearly as startling this time around. He turned up the sound, just a little, only because it felt slightly too voyeuristic watching without getting the full experience. Like he was using a telescope to peek in through the window of two completely unaware lovers. And then he turned up the sound even more, until the room was filled with moans.

It was different, watching two men be together. They responded to each other with such ease, that it seemed plausible to wonder whether they actually were lovers, not actors.

Abruptly, the dark-haired man’s cock slipped out of the blonde’s mouth, a wet and obscene pop sounding throughout the room, affecting Edge in a rather interesting way. His hand fell to his crotch as the two again started kissing, their bodies hard and flushed in all the right places. Edge couldn’t help it. Lazily, he began palming himself through his pants, his eyes fixed to the screen. He just could not help himself, and it wasn’t shame that he was experiencing, not yet. Not even close.

He watched as the blonde once more started his descent, trailing his mouth down a heaving chest, past the dark-haired man’s navel, past his cock, even, guiding him onto his front then spreading his cheeks. “Jesus,” Edge said, and undid his pants as the blonde pressed his lips against sensitive skin, tonguing at the dark-haired man’s opening. The reaction was near-instantaneous, a sharp cry followed by a deep-chested moan sounding throughout the room.

Hurriedly, Edge slipped a hand inside his pants and began to stroke at his erection, watching intently as the blonde sucked and licked, drawing out moan after moan. Hearing this, Edge picked up the pace, only to slow right on down as the blonde inserted two fingers in the other man.

“Jesus,” Edge repeated, his voice sounding as breathless as he felt. It only seemed right, to match his strokes with what he was seeing in front of him—a leisurely fingerfucking, two long fingers slowly pumping in and out of the dark-haired man, causing him to shudder and plead. It was somehow all too much and not quite enough, overwhelming to every sense yet hindered by something. By Edge’s own hang-ups? Not quite, not yet. No, it was more of an obstruction of sorts, denim and cotton keeping him from spreading his legs just as he liked to, from taking care of himself with ease.

As hard as it was, he removed his hand from his cock and pushed down at his jeans and underwear until he could kick them both to the floor.

“Jesus!” Edge shouted and leaped for the blanket to cover himself. He’d not expected to spot company when he glanced up, but then who did during such a moment?

To his credit, Adam seemed completely indifferent about the whole thing as he looked down at the abandoned pants, then at the television, and then finally to Edge. It was only when Adam stepped inside the room that he started grinning, his expression knowing.

“I-I didn’t hear you come in,” Edge managed to get out, blanket in place. He reached for the remote, desperately wanting the moans and wet noises to now stop, but, somehow, Adam managed to get there first. With his eyes glued to the television, he sat down by Edge’s feet, the sounds of sex continuing to fill the room, leaving him with half a mind to go and drown himself.

“I figured as much,” Adam replied.

Edge stared at him, bewildered and somewhat traumatized. It didn’t seem as though Adam had any plans of leaving or stopping the fucking movie, which put Edge in a bit of a sticky situation. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “What happened to Jane?”

“She wasn’t for me.” There was a beat, then Adam loudly exhaled, adding, “Jesus, look at them go.”

For the first time since being interrupted, Edge looked at the television, and was immediately greeted with the sight of the blonde balls deep in his lover. Quickly, Edge glanced away, his face red hot, yet it was no use—he could still hear it, the slap of skin against skin, and the moaning. The breathless _fuck_ ’s. And there Adam was, just watching as if he were taking in Spielberg’s latest.

Edge wanted to leave. Or rather, he wanted to be left alone. He was still hard as a rock, and more than a little tempted to kick a certain someone in the back. Instead, he did nothing, nothing except stare at the blanket covering him, while every moan and gasp caused his groin to throb. He wasn’t going to make it. “Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you please stop it?” he requested, sounding far calmer than he felt. Thankfully, Adam did as he was told, blessed silence filling the room as the remote fell back against the covers. Relieved, Edge leaned back against the pillows, rubbing at his face. “Thank you.” Adam was looking at him, Edge discovered when he let his hands drop. The smile was long gone, replaced with a peculiar expression that Edge just could not figure out. It made his chest lurch, though, and left him with a deeply uncomfortable feeling. “What?”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Adam quietly said. From his tone and his expression, it seemed highly likely he wasn’t just apologising for walking in at the wrong time. Edge, however, was not that interested in probing any further—not right now, anyway—so he simply shook his head, pointing at the door.

“Can you fuck off now?”

There was no argument. Not that one was expected, really. Adam just nodded, stood up, retrieved Edge’s pants from the floor and lay them out on the end of the bed before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him. For a moment, Edge stared, waiting for another interruption, but none came. He was safe, although not safe enough. It was so tempting to hit _play_ and pick up where he left off, yet he just couldn’t do it. No, he was done for the night, no matter what his penis was trying to tell him—a fact which definitely warranted a frustrated groan.

It took him over twenty minutes to build up the courage and settle himself completely. When he did finally venture out of his bedroom, pants on, steps somewhat timid, he discovered Adam at the dinner table, rolling an empty bottle of beer between his palms. He looked deep in thought, starting a little when he noticed he wasn’t alone, before relaxing and offering a warm smile.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi. Um, Larry rang for you while you were out.”

“Did he now? And what did he want?”

Edge shrugged. “Didn’t say, he just asked me to tell you. Do you want another drink?”

“I won’t say no.”

“Okay.”

He headed into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of beers and putting the bottle opener to good use before returning.

“Cheers,” Adam said, clinking their bottles together, then taking a long pull. Edge, on the other hand, set his untouched drink on the table, sighing at the look being sent his way. “Are you alright?”

They had to talk about it. He wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the subject, but he knew it was one of those things that required clearing up. “Look, Adam. Uh . . .”

“Edge,” Adam started, his smile warm. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s not like I haven’t caught you before. Or you’ve caught me. Or Larry.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I’ve walked in on Bono so many times over the years.”

Abruptly, Edge felt his neck go hot, an odd problem that a long swig of his cold beer did little to alleviate.

“This sort of thing just happens,” Adam reassured. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yes, but . . .” Shaking his head, Edge went for another sip of his drink. It seemed like the best option, and, really, he was hoping Adam would jump in and say something helpful, realize the issue at hand without prompting. Only silence followed, leaving Edge slightly stuck. “I mean, you know. I know we’ve all . . . before, but.”

“But?”

“The video!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that."

“Who cares?” Adam said simply, shrugging when Edge stared at him, dumbfounded. “Edge, I took notes about how to fuck a man today, and brought not one, but two sex toys and a pornographic tape home for you. Not to mention a few of the discussions we’ve had over the past couple of days. Do you really think I could give a shit what you get off to?”

“But it wasn’t meant to be for that!” Edge insisted, although he was fighting a losing battle. Which, as it turned out, didn’t look to be a problem. Adam’s face said it all—he couldn’t give a shit. “You really don’t care?”

Adam shrugged again. “Watch what you want, fuck who you want, you’re still my best friend. I mean, there are probably a few people out there who you shouldn’t fuck, but if you ever wanted to fuck a guy specifically, then maybe you should.”

With that said, he reached for his bottle once more, a small smile appearing just before it was hidden that Edge caught and wasn’t sure he appreciated.

“What exactly are you saying, Adam?”

“I’m not saying anything,” came the innocent reply, yet Adam was still grinning. Fucking unbelievable.

“You think I should do it. With Bono. You think I should, with Bono?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Adam insisted as he stood, beer in hand. Shoving his own chair back, Edge followed him into the kitchen.

“That’s what you meant though, isn’t it? You want me to fuck him?”

“I don’t want you to do anything!” Having set his bottle by the sink, Adam made a grab for the vodka, shaking his head as he opened the cupboard. “It’s none of my business.”

Edge snorted. “Oh, of course not.”

Adam slammed down a glass against the counter, the look in his eye making Edge regret ever opening his mouth.

“You’re the one who involved me, Edge.”

Nodding, he turned his attention to the floor. “I know.”

A short silence followed, broken only by Adam’s sigh. “Look, I don’t want to fight about this. I just think you need to do some thinking.”

“About what?”

“About a lot of things, mate,” he said, closing the cupboard door before stepping closer. His hand was cool against the back of Edge’s neck. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay,” Edge replied, automatically returning the hug he was pulled into. It was a bit of a relief, the embrace and the way Adam smiled at him when they parted.

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. Night.”

Edge stood there in the kitchen until he heard the bathroom door close, then set about emptying and rinsing out their bottles. Once that was done, he took the glass Adam had taken out and emptied the vodka bottle into it, relishing the warmth that coursed through his body after a single sip.

That urge to pick up the phone had returned. It was late, though. It was too fucking late to even try. 


End file.
